


sleuth's a good neighbor

by sandlaw



Category: Homestuck, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 09:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7884928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandlaw/pseuds/sandlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>FIRST FIC ON HERE, COOL!!<br/>Thanks for reading!! Critiques and comments always appreciated.</p></blockquote>





	sleuth's a good neighbor

“Hold on,” he says, slipping back into his room and rooting around for something before emerging with a metal red box the size of his forearm. He half jogs out the front door of his apartment, leaving it wide open and letting the ill, yellow light of the hallway seep into what was previously just blue dark.  
You tap a claw against your metal limb, arms crossed. You hear distant voices.  
Eventually, both your impatience and curiosity get the best of you. You peek your head around the doorframe and stare into the now-open door of Sleuth’s across-the-hall neighbor.  
Inside you can see the edge of a round, wooden table, covered with a simple, small tablecloth only barely big enough to hang its corners over the sides. There’s a basket, some needles, a walker, and various spices and cooking ware scattered across a kitchen that reminds you a lot of Sleuth’s, despite the fact that everything so clean and orderly.  
Sleuth’s talking to some old, hunched up lady who looks like she’s seen just about enough of the world to be satisfied. Her glasses are heavy on her small button nose, and she gestures slowly at something in the back of her apartment, her other hand occupied with a cane planted firmly in her plush carpeting. The top seemed to vibrate in place under her grip.  
“… radiator quit working just a few hours ago, and i was hoping it would turn back on itself, but of course it didn’t, so I went to fetch you…” you hear her say with a slight Polish accent. Sleuth’s bent over ever so slightly, nodding respectfully at everything she says. He’s still wearing his undershirt and shorts, and to any passerby you’d mistaken him as a good neighbor.  
Fancy that.  
You weren’t paying much attention, and by the time you check back in, Sleuth’s already ventured further into the apartment and out of your line of sight.  
And the old lady is staring straight at you.  
She gives you the warmest grin you’ve ever seen on anybody but Sleuth and she beckons you close with a wiry hand. You blink. What the fuck does she think she’s doing? She gestures again. You figure it couldn’t hurt to be able to keep an eye on Sleuth, in case he accidentally launched himself into some alternate dimension trying to fix a goddamn radiator.  
“You must be the gentleman Sleuth’s been seeing,” she says with an air of lighthearted humor and interest, looking up at you kindly. Suddenly you feel like you’re under evaluation. You resist the urge to swallow anxiously.  
“More or less,” you finally manage to say, and she smiles again, crow’s feet folding at the corners of her eyes.  
“So sorry to steal him from you. You know how it is,” she says, and starts shuffling over to her organized little kitchen. You follow, not knowing quite where to stand in somewhere so… Tidy.  
“While you’re here, you can help me out a bit, hm?” she says, turning a dial slightly on the stove and then pointing up at a cabinet far out of her old woman reach.  
“There’s a jar in there. Could you be a dear and gather it for me? Unscrew it too if you can, but careful, it’s a stubborn one,” she says. In the back, you hear something metal clap loudly against something else metal, and a muffled, censored curse. The radiator starts going a second later though, so Sleuth must have done something right, miraculously.  
You pull the jar down without another word, still kind of floating in the surrealness of the whole situation (and the fact that someone is asking you to take something down from a high shelf for once). You uncap a jar labeled “Fresh Purple Prunes!” that’s actually filled with a thick brown powder and set it on the round table with the square tablecloth. Something dings in the back, and you finally register that heavy, sweet smell wafting throughout the room.  
Sleuth comes over just then, dropping the small red toolbox on a seat and wiping his hands with a torn up rag. He just shoots you a look that says ‘You came?’ and you just shoot one back that you hope says ‘Shut the fuck up’ to the best of your ability.  
Sleuth drops the rag back onto the toolbox as the old lady comes shuffling back into the dining area, a large metal tray in her mittened hands. Your mouth waters at the smell, now overpoweringly sweet and warm and holy shit, are those cookies?  
“I see you met Magdalena,” says Sleuth, shifting the toolbox carefully to the floor and taking a seat where it once sat. Magdalena gestures for you to sit too and you do, for some strange reason.  
“Oh, I’ve told you, you can call me Maggie,” she says in her shaky voice, flapping a hand in light indignation. “I feel so much older when you call me by my full name, you know,”  
She shakes the cookies carefully from the tray onto a large plate in the middle of the table, moving to slide the tray back onto the kitchen counter and removing her oven mitts before turning back to the both of you. You start reaching for a cookie.  
“Oh, I don’t think I ever caught your name, young man.” she says, looking at you expectantly. Your hand snaps back to your side and, still reeling from almost being caught thieving sweets like a 5 year old, you look to Sleuth for help. You don’t want to freak out his neighbors by directly informing them that he’s dating a world-class criminal. But he just shrugs and gives a slight nod.  
“Uh,” you say dumbly, trying to remember how words work. You briefly consider making up a name.  
“S…Spades Slick,” you finally say, waiting for the moment she pales and throws you out of her home. You mentally prepare yourself to grab as many cookies as possible before that happens, though. You’re willing to be reasonable and take only a few instead of the whole plate, since Sleuth seems to go so very out of his way to get along with his neighbors.  
But the outburst never comes. She just nods like it’s any other name, and pulls the open jar of brown powder towards her. She dashes a bit of it on top of the cookies, barely a sprinkle, before pushing the platter towards you.  
“Kids these days have such eccentric names. I think the carapacians brought the naming trend with them, you know? Simplifies things, really. Oh! But I ramble. Go on, go on! Try some, they’re best when fresh.”  
Sleuth hasn’t said a word, just watching the procession in slight amusement. You snatch up a cookie and awkwardly take a controlled bite of it, and…  
Holy mother of all things fucking whatever the fuck.  
This is the literally the best cookie you’ve had in your entire damn fuck life.  
You barely restrain yourself from shoving the entire thing into your mouth. The outside is crisp and golden, the inside is absolutely gooey and just the right amount of sweet, with just the right ratio of raisins and oatmeal to pack a flavorful punch. You hear a muffled snrk and see Sleuth doing his best to cover up his laughter. Maggie just continues beaming proudly as you start reaching for your second serving.  
“It’s good?” she says with a satisfied smile. “The cinnamon brown sugar is my special mix. Adds that extra something to it.”  
You can’t even comment. Your mouth is full of raisin oatmeal goodness and you think if you eat any faster you might barf, but god, it's so good you can’t stop. Sleuth grins at you openly and leans forward to take one for himself.  
“Looks like you’ve got another fan!” Sleuth says amiably to Maggie, nodding in your direction. She gives a light little laugh.  
“Tell him to chew! He’s eating too fast. He’ll choke! Bring some back with you, my son is out of town and I have so many extra things here with not enough mouths to eat them.” She gestures to various containers across her counter.  
“Hear that Slick? No need to eat like it’s your last meal, we can take some back with us,” he says before taking a bite himself. At this point you’re already on your seventh cookie and you’re convinced that Magdalena is a baked-goods goddess. You’ve got no room to sass. This old bag’s won your endless respect.  


You stick around for another quarter hour more out of mimicked politeness as Sleuth explains the radiator issues in layman’s terms and tells her that if she ever needs any more help, she can come knock at any time. She then shoves about three tins worth of reused containers full of baked goods in your hands and sends you off with a smile and a shaky wave, and you’re pretty sure your entire month has been goddamn made.

**Author's Note:**

> FIRST FIC ON HERE, COOL!!  
> Thanks for reading!! Critiques and comments always appreciated.


End file.
